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When I was penning The Big Book of Martinis for Moms — because that’s how one writes a book; one pens them ever so eloquently; one doesn’t thrash at one’s laptop until the “c” key gets permanently stuck or try to organize one’s writer-blocked thoughts by haphazardly slapping a bajillion Post-Its on the wall like a mental patient — I had an idea for a chocolate-cherry cocktail.
read skimmed why haven’t you bought this book yet please buy this seen the book, you know that the cocktail recipes therein each correspond to a particular feat of motherhood that deserves a potent, potable reward. So like babyproofing the house is an accomplishment that calls for a Rusty Nail, while helping with homework earns Mom a Brainstorm. The chocolate-cherry cocktail, I thought, would be a mother’s just desserts on those blessed afternoons or evenings when she gets to do nothing at all, fluffy-slippered feet resting atop the coffee table. In other words, like drinking a bonbon.
Have I really never discussed with you peeps my love for mint chocolate chip ice cream? Let me rephrase more accurately — my looooove, my looovvvvvelurrrrrvemmmmnomonomnomnomohmommymygoddammmnnn for mint chocolate chip ice cream? That’s just not possible. Is that possible?
[Point of information, as I've just now bothered to fact-check my own query: It is indeed not possible. I blogged about my mint-chocolate fetish last June when I made up the Alexander the Great, my mint chip-arak concoction. Yum.]
What’s really not possible, then, is that it’s taken me this long to talk about the Grasshopper.
When I tended bar at The Royale Food & Spirits in St. Louis, floating in the ether inside that hallowed drinking hall was something called the Birthday Cake Shot. By “floating in the ether,” I mean it was a concoction that wasn’t in our top-secret, behind-the-bar recipe binder or on our official menu — but it was on patrons’ minds all the same, and many of them knew to ask for one on their (or their friends’) birthdays. Hence, we tenders had to have the shot committed to memory.
Except I never quite did. Instead, I often and repeatedly annoyed my fellow bar employees by asking them to remind me what was in it. I resented the Birthday Cake Shot because I was there to make grown-up cocktails, goddamnit. The Birthday Cake Shot wasn’t even a concoction so much as a contraption, because it was one of those where you had to do it by sucking on a slice of lemon at the finish, and maybe lick some sugar beforehand… again, I can’t remember whatever particular gymnastics were involved. Also, there was Frangelico, and somehow the lemon and Frangelico wound up tasting like yellow cake mix when combined on the tongue. Anyway, you get the point — it was one of those shots wherein its puerile overcomplications were taken as clever by the completely blotto.
So when it came time for me to include a Birthday Cake Martini in The Big Book of Martinis for Moms (because, hey, of course a book called The Big Book of Martinis for Moms has to have a birthday-cake martini; I may be a cocktail snob, but I’m not an idiot), I decided that we were gonna do it a little more grown-up-like. Because hey, like it or not, growing up is in fact what a birthday is about.
From what my Facebook feed tells me, summer is already in the air for many of you Americans. For me, it’s hit a balmy 45 degrees F two days in a row and I’m ready to cartwheel down the sidewalk in short shorts even though the sidewalk’s still encrusted with shin-high piles of dirtsnow on either side.
While walking the dogs this morning in nothing but a heavy wool coat (wheee!) I noticed that construction has finally started on a new SAQ that’ll be located a full 1 2/3 blocks closer to us than the SAQ that’s currently closest to us. Even better, the new one is clearly too big to be a SAQ Express, which means maybe they’ll carry something other than wine and Jack Daniel’s.
(The different kinds of SAQs (government-run liquor stores) up here in Quebec are SAQ Express (bodega), SAQ Depot (warehouse) SAQ Signature and SAQ Selection (the difference being?). It’s kinda like Gap, BabyGap, etc.)
Let me see if I can explain to you what I’ve done so far today. I woke up at what I consider an ungodly hour, cooked breakfast for others and then didn’t bother to cook any for myself. I took the subway downtown — I much prefer using the Bixi bikes, but the people who were my ward today don’t ride bikes. Then I
felt like I was dragged around walked around various (underground) malls looking at various gewgaws and having near-arguments; in one memorable instance, I had to insist to one of my charges that yes, this is the hat you had on when you left the house this morning.
At 10:50 a.m. (also an ungodly hour, I barely believe in showing my face in public for any reason at that time of day) these annoying twits wanted lunch. By 12:40 p.m., they decided it was snack time. We came back to my place at 2:30 p.m. to take naps. Their naps didn’t last as long as I wanted mine to, which means mine didn’t last as long as I wanted mine to. Since then, I’ve been showing people how to use the phone or admonishing them not to touch this or that.
Why even think about having kids someday? Just babysit your in-from-out-of-town septuagenarian parents all day long!
For as much as I love booze, there is one virgin elixir I just might adore even more than all the liquor in the world, and that is a chocolate egg cream.
Oh, how I could rhapsodize about an egg cream, its gloriously proportioned trifecta of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer (neither eggs nor cream). When you’re this crazy about egg creams, you know that they must be made with Fox’s U-Bet Chocolate Syrup if they’re worth a damn, and you purchase specially marked pint glasses from Junior’s in Brooklyn that indicate how much of each ingredient to use, and you hunt online for genuine, old-fashioned seltzer bottles (which must be refilled regularly with carbon-dioxide cartridges, at no small expense), because you can’t get a good, fizzy head on a homemade egg cream with seltzer from a silly twist-cap bottle.
I had no idea how I was going to wrap up Alexander Week. Any sort of liqueur-based Alexander seemed too obvious/easy, the thought of a Rum Alexander held no appeal (maybe if I used a sorbet instead of an ice cream/gelato? But still, meh) and a Vodka Alexander — well, I’d actually made one of those a few weeks ago, using an unflavored vodka and the exact-same recipe as I did for the gin Alexander (with the white creme de cacao and the mint chip gelato). It tasted OK, not at all bad, but from a mixology standpoint I was uninspired by it.
Then I remembered the espresso-infused vodka we’d made a while back, and then I thought about affogato.